


A state of being

by martinisandart



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Jack is really THAT soft, Post Case fic, actual babes, jack and Phryne are adorable, nightcaps, phrack - Freeform, softies, somewhere in season two, the only straights I’ll claim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 07:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinisandart/pseuds/martinisandart
Summary: After a dramatic and painful case, a wistful Jack wonders where a certain lady detective could be, and why she didn’t join him in the station that day.[Basically a character analysis of soft Jack and worrisome Phryne]





	A state of being

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god hi!  
> This is my first MFMM fic, and after having read some incredible pieces, I hope this isn’t too terrible. I’m in the midst of working on a case fic which I can’t wait to iron out and publish, but for now I hope this keeps the hungry phrack blues at bay.  
> Love, T xx

The Melbourne sun had started to sink just below the horizon, the sky a soft shade of orange, with pink edged clouds littering it in a way that almost looked fabricated- a soft form of utter perfection.  
A few fingers of this rather low-level sun snuck their way through the mostly closed blinds of South City police station, creating dancing waves of light across a certain officer’s face. This resulted in a raised hand to his brow as to block the offending rays out of his deep, brown eyes, in hopes that it wouldn’t get in the way of being able to see the papers as they were looked at one last time, before being shut away for good.  
This case was nearly closed, thought the detective inspector to himself, as a final signature was placed upon a red dotted line, his scrawling, spider-esque handwriting messing up the otherwise perfect sheet of paper, yet also neatening the whole document so that it could be over. He re-capped his pen lid with a self-assured smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, pleased to call this most terrible of cases yet another success, resulting in another murderer behind bars and destined for the noose, and one less criminal for his own unlikely crime-fighting-duo to have to take on again at a later date, or to ever try to harm the woman he worked with ever again, for that was something that hurt more than the difficultly of the case itself.  
“Sir?”  
Constable Collins entered the room, tapping at his new watch (courtesy of none other than his fiancée’s employer) and frowning, then looking at the clock that hung all alone on the on the grey-green station wall, save for the map that had been left there after the Foyle case. He spoke up in a quiet voice, as if he did not want to disturb the silence that fell over the station in the later hours of the evening, when no criminals were there, and it was solely the two of them, keeping themselves to themselves.  
“It’s seven- am I alright to- can I leave now?”  
Jack let out an absent minded, yet light sigh, and looked up from his papers, glancing at Hugh for a couple of seconds, and finally glancing at the clock.  
“So it is.” he muttered quietly, in an almost disappointed manner, his mind clearly elsewhere, his eyes flitting around the room as if he had been expecting someone, and that someone had not been his constable.  
“Yes Collins, you can go.” He paused for a moment, and took a breath.  
“One would assume that you have plans for the evening with Miss Williams?”  
Hugh blushed a quaint shade of dusky rose, and let out a strangled laugh, toying with the cuff of his jacket while he looked everywhere other than at his employer. Personal questions did not frequent the grounds of their conversations all too often, and it always knocked him a little sideways when he was asked them. Hugh took a quick little breath before picking up where he had so awkwardly left off.  
“That I do sir, we’re planning on visiting the pictures, a new comedy is playing- they’re Dottie’s favourite so Miss Fisher has given her the night off, you see, and you know how Miss Fisher would do anything for Dottie- and, well-”  
Jack stood up suddenly, slipping the now-closed case file into his desk, locking the draw and cutting Hugh off with a wave of his hand.  
“You’re babbling, Collins, just go and spend your evening with Dottie, enjoy yourself.”  
He paused for a moment, as if contemplating his thoughts, and then started up talking again before Collins could so much as think about leaving the room.  
“Oh! Could you also send Miss Williams my highest- truly my highest regards for the gratin that Miss Fisher dropped by yesterday- it was her best one yet: truly delicious.”  
Jack let his voice fade off, finishing the sentence in his head. The gratin, in all honesty, had been glorious: the cheese crisped just so, and the potato so thinly sliced that one had to use a magnifying glass to see the separate pieces, yet there was always something about sitting down to lunch with Phryne that made the food that little bit tastier. More fun, more interesting, more delectable.  
Hugh nodded in agreement to passing on the message to his fiancée, ignoring the slight colouration of Jack’s cheeks, and quietly slipped out of the room, grabbing the bouquet of flowers of which he had picked up from the market during his lunch break. He took a second to place one hand on the double doors to open them out to the last rays of the autumnal sunshine, yet just as he went to exit, and began to pull the doors closed, he heard a shout coming from behind him.  
“Collins!”  
He immediately rushed back into the inspector’s office, awkwardly holding the daisies in one hand, and fiddling with the buttons on his jacket with the other.  
“Yes sir?”  
Jack looked at him with an almost invisible smile, and coughed as if he did not quite know what to do with himself.  
“Do say hello to Miss Fisher. From me- please.”  
Hugh nodded, and without letting a moment more past, left the station, leaving Jack to let out a sigh of which he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He wasn’t quite sure what it was about that lady detective it made his heart flutter little faster than usual, and made his ability to speak decent English disappear but-maybe it wasn’t such a bad feeling? It was still a feeling to become reaccompanied to, especially post-Rosie: even at the start of their relationship it had been forced, awkward, they had never flirted or fitted like two puzzle pieces, they had just... been. He stifled a chuckle- he could never imagine Miss Fisher just ‘being’ for ten seconds of her life. 

Grabbing his briefcase and still-new brown fedora off the coat rack, then slipping on one of his overcoats, Jack pulled a well folded, clearly adored piece of paper from his pocket, and smoothed it slightly, before gazing at it with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he drank in the black and white image like he didn’t already know each and every detail of it by heart.  
Maybe this feeling simply existed because she was, well- her. The honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. Creator of goofy photos, fluffy hats, pantsuits and all; even her varied and frequent appearances in his cases didn’t annoy her. She was simply, genuinely, just her. She was always bouncing around his life, a whirlwind of sharply cut fringe and kid heels, the socialite and bringer of ridiculously good food and a handful of his happiest memories. 

He quickly tucked the photo back away, and locked up the doors to the station, letting them swing closed behind him. Yet another day was done, and although tomorrow may be just as difficult, or maybe even more so, it was good to know that what he was doing would help the city he loved. 

Another quick peek at his watch was taken, and unsurprisingly, another sigh escaped his lips. It was far too early to even consider dropping by Wardlow for any kind of nightcap, and it was too late to see if Collins and Dottie would like him to join them at the pictures, even if that wasn’t his usual haunt. He climbed into his car and drove off with a frown on his face, songs from the station’s newest purchase of a wireless filling his mind as he drove.

/I found out that I loved you  
And I thought you loved me too  
You were only passing time with me/

His mind wandered as the buildings zipped past in flashes of café lights and colourful sunsets. Miss Fisher hadn’t even telephoned the station today, or sprung in to see him, which was most unlike her. Usually, post completed case, she would drop by in a flurry of fur and feathers, demanding to see him, a wicker basket of fresh food in one hand in hopes to win the upper hand in their conversation, and the other set of fingers settling to brushing imaginary dust off of Jack’s lapels. She would perch on he favourite corner of his desk, stealing from his not-so-secret stash of biscuits, talking to him for hours about the case, and filling his case notebooks with her own swirling font. It meant the paperwork took twice as long to complete, and that he never had a second to contemplate things in peace, but it also meant he left work with a placid smile on his face, and a good meal in his stomach. 

On the very rare occasion that she couldn’t make it in person, there was always a sharp ringing of the station telephone, followed by Hugh awkwardly telling him that a certain lady detective was on the phone. The afternoon, or at least a large chunk of it, would be spent leaning on the entrance desk, talking to Miss Fisher about absolutely nothing, quoting Shakespeare and laughing out loud- Hugh smiling each time that Jack’s rare laugh was heard; usually whenever Phryne referred to him as ‘her’ inspector. Their conversations could last for hours, and would then be picked up later on, at Wardlow, as they drank the finest of whiskey, and carried on laughing about their cases. 

Jack’s mind swung back to the last nightcap they had shared- the last time he had seen Miss Fisher: two nights ago, just after he had arrested Richard Doyre for the murder and kidnapping of three young girls. The Doyre case had hit her hard, and he knew it- it was painfully familiar to what had happened only years earlier between herself and Janey, and how it had all been uncovered when Foyle appeared back in their lives with a bang.  
He had spent the evening comforting her, for that was what she needed. No matter how strong she might stay in the face of danger, gold pistol in hand, eyes glinting with the thrill of the chase, there was always one thought in the back of his mind. To keep her safe: hence why he had let Phryne lean her head on him while they played piano, and then wiped her tears and stayed until she fell asleep. Doyre had picked at all her faults, and her weaknesses had been trying to make themselves, a feeling that Jack knew all too well. 

/Many happy hours we spent,  
I thought you were heaven sent,  
But you were only passing time with me/

He thought mindlessly about the case for a while, how Doyre left such obvious clues, but such painful undertones. Before he knew it, he was pulling up in front of Wardlow, the lights out, the house looking seemingly all too quiet.  
“Damn it.”  
He hadn’t meant to turn up here, he swore to himself, and after parking let his head rest on the steering wheel. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he didn’t want to intrude, encroach on space, annoy Phry- 

He saw the sitting room drapes twitch slightly, and a slither of candlelight cut into the outside world, before the material was rugged closed again. He took a breath, and sighed. Well, if she was still up, he wouldn’t be getting in the way, would he? 

Jack stood, and grabbing hit hat from the passenger seat, got out the car, walking up the cobbled path to the front door of the Fisher residence. He let his hand linger on the hanging baskets of petunias that he had helped Jane plant the week before last, and then trailed across the decorative tiles toward the doorbell. 

Thinking the better of it at the last moment, Jack took his hand away from the doorbell, and quietly rapped on the door. He pulled his coat a little closer to himself as the breeze picked up, and a moment later, Mr. Butler pulled open the door.  
“Inspector Robinson!” he grinned and opened the door wider to let Jack in.  
“I’ll let Miss Fisher know you’re here- she’s in the parlour, can I take your coat?  
Jack almost smiled and after pulling off his coat and hanging it on its usual hook with his hat, he looked at Mr. Butler almost nervously.  
“There’s no need to announce me, Mr. B. I’ll just go on in, I’m hoping that she’s expecting me.”  
Mr. Butler nodded, and ever the helpful, turned away to let Jack do his thing. Even as just the help, he was aware that the two of them had... something. He just needed to let time do it’s thing, and bring two of his favourite people together. 

Jack, on the other hand, was not playing the waiting game at that moment in time. His hand reached for the door to the parlour, and he took a deep breath, listening in to see if he could hear anything from inside. There was no piano, no smooth jazz music as there sometimes was, nor was there the telltale sound of any crying, which was better than the alternative- sobbing. 

He pushed open the door with a tentative hand, and entered the room, Phryne not noticing him, too busy staring into space. She looked terribly small, curled up on the window seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, makeup free, hair somewhat mused, and wearing an old kimono of hers that he had never seen before. A glass of whiskey was being nursed by her hand, and there were marks on her cheeks from where tears had run down before.  
“Phryne..?”  
He watched as she visibly jumped, and tugged her robe closer around herself.  
“Jack?” Her wide eyes looked at him as if she wasn’t expecting him to be there, and a sob escaped her throat. She fiddled with her glass and didn’t look at him, her voice quiet and almost inaudible.  
“Who let you in?”  
Jack sighed, and after pouring himself a measure of alcohol, went and sat opposite Phryne in the window.  
“Mr. Butler, of course.”  
She half laughed, having realised her stupid question, and glanced up at him before pretending to be very interested in her drink.  
“Of course....why are you here?”  
Jack took a sip of his drink, and glanced across to the tiny black haired woman across from him. He was fully aware of how vulnerable she was tonight, and how even the slightest slip in his words could end up a mistake.  
“I-“ he paused and realised how she was looking at him with wide eyes, pouring her heart out through one look.  
“I wanted to make sure you were okay, I missed you- the station was far too quiet. I almost managed to get work done!”  
He saw her stifle a giggle, and moved his glass to the side, opening his arms. She took the hint, and moved across so she could lean into his shoulder, her voice still quiet and soft with the noise of tears.  
“Thank you, Jack.” she murmured, hiding her face in the crevice between his shoulder and jaw.  
“Though I really shouldn’t be personally affected by cases, gosh, you tell me that all the time.”  
Jack carefully took her chin in his hands, his mindless state from earlier making a return, and looked in her sparkling grey eyes.  
“I’m not here to scold you, Miss Fisher. I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”  
His voice was unnaturally soft, and Phryne couldn’t help but lock eyes with his own green ones. 

Their whole dynamic had changed since they had first started to work together, and they were both aware of it, Jack more so than his counterpart. There was, of course, the whole ordeal with him being a civil servant, and her being a classy socialite, yet there was, however, a spark. 

That was why Jack found himself leaning in, and brushing his lips softly against Phryne’s forehead, and then the tip of her nose, and finally, against her salty lips. He felt her leaning into him, and she kissed him gently, neither of them rushing, both of them just...being. 

A sad smile played on her lips, and Phryne let her head rest on Jack’s shoulder.  
“At least it’s over, Miss Fisher.” he said quietly, smoothing her hair and feeling her breaths grow steady, using her last name as a term of endearment rather than formality.  
“And you don’t have to worry about feeling like this... it’s human.”  
Jack felt her laugh into his chest, and she looked up at him with sparkling, doe-like eyes.  
“Could you stay?”  
She pointed at the clock on the mantle: an hour and a half had passed, and it was coming up to ten, the outside air completely dark, and the house peaceful.  
Jack took a deep breath, ready to start to decline her invitation, but after taking in her disheveled appearance, and tears that were still glimmering in her eyes, surprised himself.  
“Of course, Miss Fisher. Lead the way.”  
She stood up, and took his own large hand in her tiny, pale one.  
“I don’t have any anterior motive.” She started,  
“I just need-“  
Jack presses a finger to her lips, and she kissed it daintily.  
“I know.” he said,  
“I know.” 

/I remember all the things you told me,  
And the way you used to kiss and hold me,  
When you said you’d always care,  
I thought you were playing fair,  
But you were only passing time with me./


End file.
